


a fireside waltz

by winterberry_holly



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Gratuitous Waltzing, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Regency Romance, many background ships mentioned but not explored in depth, not super present but tagging to be safe!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterberry_holly/pseuds/winterberry_holly
Summary: In an effort to resist the urge to sweep Gaara into an embrace, Lee forces himself to look at Gaara’s forehead – not those eyes that entrance, or those lips that beg to be kissed – and spies a splotchy birthmark under his tousled bangs, vaguely in the shape of a heart. Even his birthmarks are adorable. Is there anything about this man that isn’t utterly captivating?If there is, it’s not his smile, tiny and shy when Lee and Gaara take hands for the second time.Nor is it the longing glance Lee thinks Gaara gives him when they must part.
Relationships: Gaara/Rock Lee, Hyuuga Neji/Tenten, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	a fireside waltz

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I got curious about what GaaLee Bingo was back when it was happening, and when I looked at the cards and saw the words “regency AU”, I had a vision of Gaara and Lee staring longingly at each other from across the dance floor while Neji and Tenten were Jane Austen-ing in the background and all my synapses fired at once, resulting in this!
> 
> Elaboration on content warnings:
> 
> -Period-typical homophobia is present throughout this story in that the societal structure/social norms of the time force Gaara and Lee to be sneaky (rather than any character being actively malicious).
> 
> -Period-typical misogyny is far less present, but in the first half it comes up occasionally, primarily in reference to Tenten’s relationship w/ Hyuuga Hiashi.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Lee cannot decide if he loves attending balls or if he would sooner give up his left arm than attend another one.

On the one hand, they are so full of life. He loves the bright colors of the ladies’ delicate frocks and the way the men’s silky cravats shimmer faintly in the candlelight. He loves the echo of the piano, the tender cry of strings, and the dizzying air of the ballroom floor. He loves his sister, Tenten, who hems and haws each time Hyuuga Neji invites her to a ball, claiming that the gatherings are “ridiculous” and “totally demeaning to women” as she tries to decide which dress of hers will torment him the most. He loves seeing new faces and learning new names, wondering if any of them will make a home in his heart before the night is through.

On the other, they can be so very draining. He hates how constricting his clothes are, his best bottle-green suit always too tight across his chest and straining at his arms (such finery is simply not made for a workman’s frame like his). He hates that he is low-born, that the social-climbing ladies have little incentive to spare him a passing glance. He hates that he is nevertheless eye-catching for all the wrong reasons – eyebrows thick and untamed, dark eyes too wide, voice too loud. He hates how frequently they ride home from these balls in silence: Lee miserable at being passed over for the hundredth time, Tenten fuming after yet another spat with Neji (or the Hyuuga’s disapproving head of house.)

So Lee has found himself here again, back pressed against the damask wall as he watches the other partygoers enjoy themselves, caught between the part of him that wants to sweep a stranger off their feet and the part of him that prays that no one will notice he’s here.

Fortunately, he thinks it will be very easy to remain unnoticed this evening. There is an unusual amount of hubbub on the opposite side of the hall that Lee supposes must be because of the evening’s most honored guests ( _“Foreign nobility,”_ Neji had said when they arrived). Lee has not yet seen hide nor hair of the siblings – a daughter and two sons, all eligible for marriage and friendly with the boisterous Uzumaki Naruto, who’d just returned from his grand tour with the siblings in tow, apparently looking to do some traveling of their own. He doesn’t think twice on it. There is no reason for him to believe he’d ever have a chance with the daughter, and he highly doubts Tenten would look even once at either of the sons.

He turns his attention to the quadrille that is just ending out on the ballroom floor. Lee is _dying_ to dance, but is so often burdened by the knowledge that any lady he asks _has_ to dance with him that he rarely, if ever, asks at all anymore. He would have asked Sakura – she had so kindly rejected his attempts to court her in the past, but is often very happy to mingle and dance with him just for the fun of it – but she is dancing with her bosom friend Ino, having apparently gotten special permission from the master of ceremonies to do so.

_How nice_ , Lee thinks, _to be that wanted._

He is so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice that someone has sidled up next to him on the wall until he hears the smack of their lips as they sip at their punch. Lee turns, expecting Tenten, but is surprised to see an unfamiliar man with mussed brown hair, in a half-buttoned suit that is such a deep purple that Lee mistakes it for black at first glance. The whole look of him is a little careless, as if he’d wandered in uninvited after having rolled out of bed an hour ago.

“Not one for dancing,” he says blithely.

“I love to dance,” Lee shouts back.

The man grimaces at his loudness, putting a step or two of distance between himself and Lee before sipping at his drink again.

“So you’re over here by yourself. Makes sense.”

Lee blushes. He loves swinging Tenten around until she loses her breath laughing, or jumping in and out of an hour-long country dance, but the way the people dance at balls like these is so…uptight. Slow, careful movement is not at all in Lee’s wheelhouse. People barely touch – indeed, they seem to make as much of an effort as they can to avoid having any real fun at all.

And of course, there is the matter of Tenten’s repeated declarations that a woman’s inability to refuse a dance is “barbaric”, which echoes in his head each time he even _thinks_ of asking anyone other than Sakura to dance.

“The dances can be so somber, and…I find it difficult to ask,” Lee admits.

The man barks a laugh. “Ah, I gotcha. Hey, Gaara!”

Lee turns in the direction that the man is looking and has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from gasping out loud.

The man he’s called over – _Gaara_ – has the most striking eyes Lee has ever seen. A dazzling, frostbitten blue, strangely brought out by the dark circles that surround them. He is small, with a presence that is at once arresting and reserved. He demands attention that he does not seem to want. The rich wine red of his suit very nearly matches his hair; it makes Lee want desperately to drink him down, a realization that shames and thrills him in equal measure.

Gaara is not looking at the man who shouted for him. Those stunning eyes of his practically have Lee pinned to the wall. Lee sees them flick up and down his body, despite the fact that Gaara has Neji’s cousin on his arm.

The sudden burning in his lungs reminds him that it is probably in his best interest to begin breathing again.

“Go get Tem,” the man beside Lee calls, breaking the spell Gaara had put him under. “I just found her a dance partner.”

Lee does not want to be Tem’s dance partner – he very suddenly wants to spend the entire evening just gazing at the beautiful man before him – but Gaara nods stiffly, excuses himself from the Hyuuga, and disappears into the crowd. His departure inspires a dreadful pain in Lee’s chest. Something hollow, something _charged_.

“You don’t hafta be nervous,” says the man, apparently noticing the way Lee’s hands have begun to shake. “Tem’s a peach. You’re gonna love her.”

“Tem?”

“My sister,” explains the man. “Are you gonna hurl or something? Because maybe you should go do that now before she gets here. I don’t think she’ll take kindly to you puking on her.”

The man makes an excellent point. Lee could excuse himself, or feign illness, and avoid having to deal with the situation at all. But he can’t abandon Tenten, nor can he ask her to leave – though it’s possible he _should_ , she has just said something to Hyuuga Hiashi that prompts Neji to down his entire flute of champagne in one magnificent swig, something _far_ too exciting is happening over there. And as terrified as he is of the passion ablaze in his chest, Lee does not know if he could live with himself if he fled now, cannot imagine spending the rest of his nights pondering what-ifs and if-onlys, all centered around the magnetic stranger he’d been too afraid to know.

He is many things, but he is, regrettably, not a coward. So instead of fleeing, Lee says, “I am not going to puke. But thank you for your concern.”

“Anytime,” the man drawls, toasting him.

When Gaara returns (after an eternity, and yet somehow far too quickly) he returns with a statuesque blonde with curls as wild as his own. Her gauzy lilac dress and dainty jewelry are drastically at odds with the roguish grin she sports as she fixes her attention on Lee.

“Who’s this?”

The man beside Lee frowns. “Uh, I dunno, actually. We haven’t done that part yet.” He points to the blonde. “Temari.” Then to Gaara. “Gaara.” And then the man beside him holds out his hand. “Kankurou.”

“I’m Lee,” he answers, shaking Kankurou’s hand vigorously. When he lets go, Kankurou winces.

“Strong,” he observes, clenching and unclenching his fist.

Half the ballroom seems to be looking at them, whispering and pointing – not at Lee directly, as he’s used to when he leaves his place at the wall, but at the whole pack of them. There is definitely something like resentment being shot his way, which Lee cannot begin to comprehend, wildly unaccustomed as he is to others coveting anything he has. The only thing he can think the attendees might want is the attention of one of the three people before him. Attention which he is currently monopolizing…

Just when Lee realizes that these three must be the eligible siblings that everyone has been gossiping about all evening, Kankurou slides his hand between Lee’s back and the wall and pushes him towards Temari.

“He loves to dance,” he says slyly, “and he likes it lively.”

“ _Finally_ ,” says Temari, with a playful tone that reminds him strongly of Tenten. “Someone _fun_. Come on.”

And before Lee can argue, she is dragging him onto the dance floor, away from both the safety of the wall and the allure of her exceedingly handsome brother.

Temari’s heels _click-clack_ against the polished wood as she leaves Lee’s side to position herself across from him. From her spot in the crowd, Tenten gawks openly as her eyes dart between Lee and Temari, mouthing questions at him so quickly that Lee can barely comprehend her; she finally drags a glowering Neji onto the ballroom floor to join them. But their set is still lacking a third pair, until–

“Sorry,” whispers a raspy voice to his left, sending shivers down Lee’s spine despite the heat of the ballroom. “My sister gets wolfish when she’s bored.”

It’s _him_.

Flustered, Lee forces himself to bow for Temari as the music begins anew, trying to recall the steps of the reel they’re dancing as quickly as he can. With gusto, Temari takes his hand and whirls past him, and he winds up across from Neji, who takes his hand primly and determinedly avoids Tenten’s gaze.

“ _Your sister is incorrigible,_ ” Neji whispers in his ear before gliding gracefully by.

Over Neji’s left shoulder, he can see Gaara, who furtively glances in Lee’s direction. Briefly, their eyes meet…those _eyes_ , Lee wants nothing more than to lose himself in those eyes, let the chill of them seep into his bones…

“ _Pay attention, Lee_ ,” Neji hisses, taking his hand to switch with him again.

Lee refuses to allow Neji’s foul mood to ruin the airy feeling blossoming in his chest, but he does refocus himself on the reel so as not to be disrespectful to Temari. It is not her fault that she is not her brother. He rejoins her as Neji and Tenten circle around the other dancers like sharks, glaring intently at each other all the while. Once they’ve sniped their way down the line, they separate, Tenten joining hands with Lee and Temari and spinning with them.

Drawing her closer, Lee turns to his sister.

“What happened?” they whisper in unison.

“You first,” says Lee. When she unsubtly jerks her head towards Temari, he adds, “I will explain later, I promise.”

Tenten looks a bit let down by this response, but signals in Neji’s direction anyway. “His uncle said that fencing was an ‘unladylike’ interest, so I challenged him to a duel.” She puts on an affected air, wrinkling her nose. “ _Hyuuga-san_ is thus displeased with me.”

They part ways before Lee has time to tell her that actually, challenging Hyuuga Hiashi to a duel may have been just a bit much. Neji and Tenten round on each other, jumping right back into their heated argument as if no one else were around. But Lee doesn’t have time to worry about Tenten’s penchant for antagonizing the one man with the power to decide whether or not Neji will finally be permitted to court her. Gaara is bowing to Hinata, and then Temari is spinning Lee again…

…and suddenly he and Gaara are facing each other, moving toward each other, reaching for each other...

He takes Gaara’s hand to switch places with him, just as he had Neji’s, but the feeling is so different. The ballroom is suddenly too small, the air around him stifling. The music sounds sweeter. Dreamier. It is still not as sweet as the hitch he thinks he hears in Gaara’s breath.

All too quickly, they separate, and a bereft Lee finds himself aching for Gaara’s touch.

In an effort to resist the urge to sweep Gaara into an embrace, Lee forces himself to look at Gaara’s forehead – not those eyes that entrance, or those lips that beg to be kissed – and spies a splotchy birthmark under his tousled bangs, vaguely in the shape of a heart. Even his birthmarks are adorable. Is there anything about this man that isn’t utterly captivating?

If there is, it’s not his smile, tiny and shy when Lee and Gaara take hands for the second time.

Nor is it the longing glance Lee thinks Gaara gives him when they must part.

Lee may as well be floating on air as he flits around the other dancers, a dreamy mirror of Temari opposite him. Indeed, he is so giddy that when he escorts Temari down the line, they are practically skipping; Lee spins her around playfully when they reach the end, which elicits more than a couple of shocked gasps from the onlookers. Temari herself turns to Gaara, dropping her jaw and laughing.

Gaara’s teeth catch his bottom lip as he tries to stifle a laugh of his own.

Turning on his heel with a flourish, Lee takes hands with Neji and Tenten, who exchange confused glances before directing their matching bewilderment at him (a bewilderment that only grows when Lee offers no explanation for his delight, only beams at them both).

Gaara and Hinata spin back into view: they take hands briefly and Lee is fully breathless now, riveted by Gaara to the right of him, the feel of his delicate hand in his own. He is so distracted by it that when they separate, he forgets to turn back around to join hands with Temari. Thankfully, she takes it upon herself to collect him.

“Where’d you go?” she teases, more mocking than flirtatious. Almost sisterly. He should question it, but he can’t bring himself to process it fully as he settles across from her again.

This is undoubtedly the worst part of the reel, where he must somehow stand still despite his all-consuming joy. Lee is ostensibly looking at Temari, but he is hyper-aware of Gaara’s presence just steps away. Taking hands with Neji. Circling behind him, far closer to Lee than he needs to be. Passing in front of him and coyly lowering his eyes.

Lee starts counting the seconds until he can take Gaara’s hand again.

The next time their paths cross, Lee dares to pull him closer, their shoulders brushing as they trade places. He is close enough that he can smell Gaara’s cologne, a warm, woody smell mingling with something musky and floral, on which Lee is very suddenly _drunk_.

“You’re enthusiastic,” Gaara pants with a hint of amusement. His breath tickles Lee’s neck.

“I give everything my all!” Lee replies when they come together again. Gaara laughs: a low, throaty sound. It is the most beautiful sound Lee has ever heard.

The dance blurs for Lee, coming into sharp focus only when Gaara’s fingers brush against his, when their faces come so close together that their breath mingles, when he catches Gaara’s cologne on the air. He hopes he is not imagining the electricity between them, the hunger in Gaara’s eyes as they orbit each other.

Spurred on by Lee’s high spirits, their reel of six becomes so lively that it draws attention. Even Neji is a touch lighter on his feet as Tenten takes his hands and spins with him, their argument forgotten; Hinata chances a playful giggle as a distracted Gaara fumbles the steps of the dance; Temari laughs herself almost to tears as Lee twirls her to and fro; each fleeting moment that he and Gaara touch is more perfect than the last.

The set lasts twenty minutes, barely long enough for Lee to feel it at all. But Gaara is winded beside him when the music stops; Lee cannot look, he _cannot look_ , for Gaara’s heavy breathing is already enough to cloud his senses. He doesn’t think he could bear to see sweat on Gaara’s brow, or his loosened cravat, or his fingers raking through his wild hair as he combs it back…

He makes himself look at Temari instead. Her eyes are a rich sea green, fathoms deep and stormy.

They are not the same.

Polite applause fills the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hinata being fairly tackled by Uzumaki Naruto, who loudly greets Gaara before whisking the red-faced girl away toward the hors d’ouevres. Lee bows to Temari, who curtsies back with an inscrutable expression on her face.

“Lee!”

Hurrying over to him is Tenten, her teal skirts bunched up in her hands. “Wait–“

“Let him go,” Neji instructs. He looks mildly impressed, if not a bit bemused, as he nods to Lee. “We will catch up with you later.”

Lee swallows, nodding back, and feels a gentle hand on his arm – Temari’s, not Gaara’s, for he’s returned to his brother’s side (and wouldn’t have touched him that way anyway, Lee is being foolish). Looping her arm around Lee’s elbow, though he hadn’t offered it, Temari walks him back toward Kankurou and Gaara.

She leans in conspiratorially and whispers a question in his ear: “Has your eye already been caught?”

Mercifully, Temari is not so blatant as to look at her brother directly. But she tilts her head almost imperceptibly in Gaara’s direction, and Lee knows he’s been found out.

“I…n-no! I would not…You misunderstand…”

Temari softens. “You don’t have to be like that with me,” she says sympathetically, maternally. She looks over at her brother. “Kankurou!”

“Yeah.”

“I’m in need of a new dance partner. The wallflowers are the fun ones, clearly,” Temari says, winking at Lee. She scans the ballroom, then points to the opposite wall, where the Nara family’s sullen youngest stands with head upturned and eyes closed. “Him.”

“Go ask Naruto. He’ll introduce you.”

“I need _your_ help.”

“You really don’t.”

Those stormy green eyes flash. “Kankurou. _Now_.”

“Okay, okay,” whines Kankurou. “Oi, Naruto!”

She follows him, and he and Gaara are as alone as they can be in the crowded ballroom.

Lee swallows nervously. “That was a delightful reel,” he says casually, chancing a look at Gaara.

But Gaara doesn’t seem to have heard him. He’s watching Temari and Kankurou and furrowing what little brow he has.

Dismayed, Lee watches the next dance begin. Across the room, Neji is doing the same – he’s danced twice with Tenten already, but has no desire to dance with anyone else, and so he hovers awkwardly as Tenten reluctantly follows an unknown man onto the dance floor.

Sometimes, when Neji is looking at Tenten, his mouth becomes a tight, thin line, like he’s afraid an impassioned declaration of love might burst forth without his consent at any moment. He is looking at her this way now, as she half-heartedly goes through the motions of the minuet and surreptitiously throws withering glances Neji’s way. Lee has always found this expression of his highly endearing, and until now has always felt a sliver of envy worming under his skin upon seeing it: envy that he hasn’t found someone to inspire such yearning in himself.

He should have been counting his blessings and sending Neji his prayers. This is _horrible._ His throat is raw from choking back every _you’re beautiful_ that claws at it; his lips are sure to bleed from the force of his teeth holding them closed. Every second that Gaara is not looking at him feels like a second horribly wasted.

And he wants so, so desperately for Gaara to say anything back to him, just to hear him speak–

“I’m surprised my sister didn’t want a second dance,” Gaara says at last. “She was having fun.”

Lee laughs far too loudly. “It is alright. I did not want to dance with her again anyway!”

Gaara fixes him with a piercing stare.

“That is to say…your sister is lovely!” Lee adds hastily, feeling his cheeks grow hot and wishing he could just outright say _I would much rather dance with you!_ “I am just…very tired.”

“You don’t look tired. You certainly weren’t tired at the end of our set.”

“Well, um…”

“Do you not like my sister?”

“No!” cries Lee. Gaara is starting to look rather menacing. “I mean, yes! I mean…she just…she reminds me of my own sister. Quite a lot, actually.”

The seconds that it takes for Gaara to process Lee’s statement feel like centuries. He looks back at Temari, watching her flirt with the Nara boy. “It would be…strange,” he posits, fixing his eyes on Lee again.

Lee breathes a sigh of relief. “Yes. Exactly.”

Gaara nods slowly, seeming to accept this explanation. “Is your sister here this evening?”

Lee nods, pointing out Tenten, who is currently sticking her tongue out at Neji over her partner’s shoulder. Neji seems to be making a herculean effort not to laugh.

Gaara’s eyes flicker with recognition. “Oh, the other girl in our set. She was fighting with her dance partner.”

“That…happens,” Lee admits. “My sister is a feminist, and the Hyuuga are very traditional.”

“So they’ll be wed within the year.”

Gaara’s delivery is so terribly dry that it takes Lee a moment to realize he’s made a joke. “You are funny!” cries Lee, grinning from ear to ear.

Gaara gives him a curt nod, a hint of a smile, before scrutinizing Tenten.

“You two don’t look alike.”

Oh.

He should have known this was coming. They get this all the time. Tenten is undeniably beautiful, with her radiant smile and her chestnut hair that looks perfect no matter what complicated updo she tries on it, and Lee is just…not like that. He sighs, preparing his usual “ _yes, I know my sister is lovely”_ and “ _no, we are not related by blood”_ (which in his father’s presence often lead to “ _no, Papa is not related to me by blood, either”_ and “ _yes, really, he’s not, I know”._ )

“Your eyes are different,” Gaara clarifies, before Lee can speak, and then, “Your lashes are longer.”

It is an unusual point to fixate on, much less verbalize. Lee thinks that perhaps Gaara is attempting to pay him a compliment, but his expression is so blank that he cannot be sure. “Thank you,” he hazards to say.

“You’re welcome,” murmurs Gaara. A flush of color rises in his cheeks.

Lee is admittedly unaccustomed to attention, but he’s not a fool. They are dancing around each other again, but the steps are different, novel yet familiar. The music seems to swell, and the chatter and noise of the ballroom seems to fade until there is nothing but the stirring chorus of strings and the soft sounds of Gaara breathing.

“Would you like to step outside?” Lee asks, seized by a sudden rush of bravado. “It is incredibly warm in here.”

“It’s raining outside,” Gaara replies bluntly, “and I like the heat.”

He can hear the rain, but now that’s he’s been so stupid as to make the suggestion, Lee feigns ignorance as he looks out the tall window to see heavy rivulets of water rapidly trailing down the windowpane.

“Oh, yes, so it is,” answers Lee. A bit of a nervous knot is forming near his stomach.

Scanning the ballroom with those piercing eyes of his, Gaara gestures toward one of the entryways. “Perhaps we could find another room in which to sit and talk, if you would like more privacy?”

“That is a fantastic idea,” Lee agrees.

He is careful to keep a respectful distance between them as he leads Gaara around the other guests. They are as discrete as possible, but they can’t help drawing a significant amount of attention: Gaara is a most honored guest, after all, inspiring a curiosity in the other attendees that will almost guarantee that they’ll have barely a moment to themselves.

Sure enough, they are almost out of the ballroom when Lee hears someone shout, “Where’re ya goin’, Gaara?”

“Naruto,” Gaara answers coolly.

Uzumaki Naruto beams brightly at them both as he pops a miniature pastry into his mouth. “An’ Bushy Brow!” he continues thickly, still chewing. “Ya can’t be leaving already! Party’s just startin’!”

“I am not leaving,” Gaara reassures him.

“Where’re ya takin’ him, then, Bushy Brow?”

Lee _really_ wishes that Naruto would stop calling him that, especially in front of Gaara. “We are just going to discuss…um…uh…”

“My sister,” Gaara cuts in.

“Yes! I’m, uh, interested in his sister. So we are going to…discuss that. Privately.”

Naruto frowns. “Uh oh. You’d better get moving, Bushy Brow. She’s gettin’ pretty chummy with Shikamaru right about now.”

Indeed, Temari and the Nara boy seem to have foregone the idea of dancing entirely, choosing instead to sit themselves down and have what appears to be a surprisingly jovial argument. Kankurou, forced to chaperone in Gaara’s absence, looks on in horror as Temari giggles at something unknown.

“Thank you for the warning, Naruto,” says Lee hurriedly. “I will be sure to take it into consideration!”

He ushers Gaara into the hall before Naruto can call him by any more humiliating nicknames. In his embarrassment, Lee eschews a glance at Gaara in favor of taking in the paintings that hang on the umber-brown walls. Rather a lot of wild-looking people, with rather a lot of enormous dogs.

“You are not a gifted liar.”

Lee nearly apologizes, but Gaara has that playful hint of a smile on his face, and Lee realizes he’s being teased and not scolded.

“I find it distasteful under most circumstances,” Lee replies.

Gaara hums absently. “But not this circumstance.”

Very suddenly, the intricately carved crown molding draws Lee’s attention (wolves, prowling the ceiling: the Inuzuka are nothing if not consistent). He _should_ find this lie just as distasteful as any other. Lee is a man of honor, a man of his word. But for the first time in his life, the prospect of getting something he wants outweighs his nobler urges (though what exactly he wants when they reach the end of this hall, Lee still doesn’t know).

“I like your eyebrows, by the way,” Gaara says softly.

There is no way that Lee can pretend he hasn’t heard Gaara’s attempt to cheer him up as they wander alone down the dimly lit corridor. Even their steps are muffled by the plush carpet. “You are very kind.”

“I’m not being kind. I’m telling the truth.”

Lee blushes, disarmed by the sincerity in Gaara’s voice. He opens his mouth to thank him, but Gaara takes his hand, pulls him toward a half-open door to their right.

“Here,” Gaara orders. “This ought to do.”

The two duck into the room, which turns out to be the back parlor. Its walls are papered a deep red, chain-linked gilded trellises running up and down the length of them. Faded rugs and furs cover the floor, a bit haphazardly, and the legs of the giltwood furniture appear to have been chewed by fangs both great and small. A low-burning fire blazes in the hearth. The warm glow of it is terribly romantic, though Lee can’t help wondering who has been so irresponsible as to leave the fire burning unattended. It is very unsafe.

Gaara settles on the sofa, leaving plenty of space for Lee that Lee does not take – someone has to mind that fire, after all. For some time, they say nothing. Very quiet, very still. Outside, the rain pounds a steady melody against the walls and windows.

“I miss the music a bit, actually,” Lee says with an awkward laugh, watching the crackling fire burn down lower. Soon it will be nothing but a glowing of embers.

“The music was nice,” Gaara replies. “You’re a wonderful dancer. I can’t dance like that.”

“You danced very well!”

Gaara shakes his head. “The style here isn’t what I’m accustomed to. There are a lot of…placements. It’s tedious, honestly.”

“Oh,” says Lee.

“You made it enjoyable,” Gaara adds, “but I do not think I’d like to do it again.”

_That’s too bad,_ Lee thinks. Even just dancing near Gaara had been so thrilling that he’d been strongly considering taking a page from Sakura and Ino’s book and just flat-out asking the master of ceremonies to let him dance with Gaara, damn the consequences. If they’re short enough on women this evening, he may have been able to swing it.

“What style do you prefer?” Lee asks.

Eyes fixed on the fire, Gaara replies, “I prefer more intimate manners of dance.”

This surprises Lee; Gaara doesn’t seem the type to let anyone come so close. Had he misread him, or is Gaara telling the truth, is just very particular as to whom he…

“Have you ever waltzed?” Gaara asks quickly, still unable to meet Lee’s eyes.

Lee shakes his head.

“It’s very different. I can teach you, if…you’re interested, in that sort of thing.”

He’s looking at Lee, now, a guarded sort of hope written all over his features.

“I would be – “ Lee clears the nervousness from his throat. “I would be happy to learn from you.”

Gaara rises from the sofa and stands at the center of the parlor with his hand outstretched; Lee delays in taking it, not from shyness but from wanting to hold onto the moment a little longer, to remember every bit of what it looks like for Gaara to invite him in. When Lee is finally ready to step forward, Gaara holds their clasped hands out away from their bodies, stepping closer to him, closer than they’ve been all evening. He takes Lee’s other hand and rests it on his shoulder, then places his own free hand at Lee’s waist. Gaara is considerably shorter than he is, and has to look up to see Lee’s face.

“Are you alright?”

He’s fixated on Lee’s mouth. Lee’s lips have parted in surprise, and his breathing is embarrassingly irregular.

“It’s very…close,” Lee says shakily.

“It is,” Gaara agrees. “Just follow my lead.”

Gaara begins to move, counting a soft one-two-three as he leads Lee slowly around the parlor. He quietly murmurs instructions into Lee’s chest – “watch your step” and “there you are” – and Lee’s heart begins to pound incessantly against his ribcage, so hard that he almost fears that Gaara will hear it. Gentle encouragement from Gaara has Lee stumbling less, opening himself up, forgetting himself more with every step. He could learn anything, he’s sure, if Gaara were the one lighting his way. Gaara is breathtaking like this, lit only by the fire that burns in the hearth, reflections of the flame dancing in his bright eyes and bringing out flecks of gold in his red hair.

Lee thinks he would live in this moment forever, if given the chance.

All too soon, Gaara pauses, the expression on his face unreadable.

“You won’t dance in this position, with a woman,” Gaara explains. He says the word “woman” like it burns his tongue. “You’ll lead, as I am now. Would you like to practice it?”

He wouldn’t, particularly. He was rather enjoying Gaara’s gentle guidance, Gaara’s touch at his back, the floaty, freeing feeling of being swept around the dark, cozy parlor. But he is afraid that if he says no, Gaara will let go of his hand, put distance between them that he won’t be able to close again, so Lee says, “I would like that very much.”

Nodding, Gaara repositions them slightly, switching the placements of their free hands so that Lee’s is on his waist and his own grips Lee’s shoulder.

It isn’t long at all before Lee’s body picks up the rhythm and the footwork of the waltz. He has always been a quick study at this sort of thing. Carried away as he is by the warmth of the parlor, the rhythmic _rat-tat-tat_ of the falling rain, and the rich aroma of Gaara’s cologne, Lee picks up the pace of their waltz. He doesn’t realize that he’s begun to lift Gaara off of the ground until Gaara clutches his shoulder and hand desperately, scrabbling for any sense of purchase.

“I’m so sorry!” he whisper-shouts, hurriedly putting him down.

Gaara does not look like he minds nearly as much as he should. As they turn, Gaara’s expression changes – his wide eyes turn half-lidded with desire, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Lee is so spellbound that he barely notices Gaara seizing control of their dance until his back is pressed against the parlor wall. Breathing heavily, Gaara rises up on his toes; he catches himself as he brings his face closer to Lee’s, close enough that Lee can feel the heat of Gaara’s breath on his lips.

“This is dangerous,” says Lee.

“Yes,” says Gaara.

But Lee has always chased danger like he’ll never see another sunrise, and so Lee leans forward as Gaara cups his face with both hands (hands that are so soft, but hold him so fiercely) and crushes his lips against his own. This is an _old_ dance, one Lee’s body recalls without memory, the movements coming back to him with every slide of Gaara’s mouth on his. He closes his eyes as Gaara slips his tongue into Lee’s mouth, desperate and shameless. Every part of Gaara is equally tempting – Lee can’t decide whether to run his fingers through his curls, or to grasp desperately at his blood-red lapels, or to let his hand wander down to the soft curve of his rear, so he tries them all, finding each more satisfying than the last.

Lee has always imagined kisses to be chaste, respectful and considerate, but Gaara’s kiss is bruising. Greedy. He _bites_. Lee groans, tipping his head back, and the teeth that had just caught Lee’s bottom lip nip gently at his throat, right where his racing pulse can surely be felt. A fleeting desire for Gaara to bite down _hard_ , to draw blood, flickers through Lee’s hazy mind. ( _Is it shame or satisfaction that pools at the base of his spine at the thought?_ ) But Gaara doesn’t indulge this fantasy; he peppers kisses up the column of Lee’s throat, licks along the hard line of Lee’s jaw and nips at his earlobe, tugging softly and drawing another moan from Lee’s lips.

Even under Gaara’s ministrations, Lee finds himself a bit in wondrous disbelief. These kinds of things do not happen to Lee. He does not find himself seduced by charming strangers, nor has he ever felt like perhaps _he_ is something desirable, a temptation that someone would risk everything to taste. But Gaara kisses him like he’s starving for him. He treats every article of Lee’s clothing like it’s his mortal enemy, like he’d tear it to shreds if he could. The part of him that still can’t believe that this is happening is finally quieted when Gaara begins to roll his hips against Lee’s, and he can feel just how badly he is wanted.

(Apparently, Lee is wanted very, _very_ badly.)

Aided by the drowsy heat of the fire, their kiss becomes a languid, unhurried thing; they take time they do not have to slide their hands slowly over each other’s bodies, to rock their hips together in a delicious but pale imitation of the act that Lee has never let himself even consider, let alone yearn for. Lee doesn’t know how long they’re tangled up in each other – it could be minutes, it could be hours – but just as Gaara untucks Lee’s shirt to slip his hand under it, graze his fingers over the plane of Lee’s abdomen, there is a sharp clattering sound from over near the hearth.

_Someone is stoking the fire_.

Unbidden, Lee feels himself start to gasp, but Gaara firmly presses a finger to Lee’s lips. Shakes his head so slowly, his eyes as wide with panic as Lee imagines his own to be. Lee’s view is blocked by the bookshelf beside them, and Gaara does not seem like he would dare to turn around, as if his not being able to see whoever is in the room with them will protect them somehow. How had Lee not heard the door open? Had Gaara so thoroughly clouded his usually sharp senses?

They hold their positioning, their breath, for what feels like ages. When it becomes clear that the interloper is not going to leave, the rustle of cinders unceasing, Lee leans forward as Gaara barely turns his head –

One of the furs that had been piled up near the fireplace has arisen – a great, shaggy white dog – and has taken up the poker between its fangs, nudging at the hearth to get the dying fire going again.

“A…dog,” Gaara observes, face blank.

“They’re b-brilliant things, Inuzuka dogs,” Lee explains shakily.

The tension finally broken, Lee sags against the wall in relief, holding Gaara to his chest as their fear leaves them in violent waves, gasping together, trembling against each other.

“We ought to go back,” Gaara says. And yet, he clings tighter to Lee.

The dog, satisfied with his work, comes trotting over to them and sniffing inquisitively. Lee scratches behind his ears with a hand that’s only just starting to stop trembling.

“Yes, of course,” Lee replies, nodding.

They pull apart, Lee righting his clothes and Gaara working fruitlessly to tame his disheveled curls (he gives up on this quickly, choosing to watch Lee redress instead). It is _incredibly_ difficult to redress under Gaara’s watchful eyes. The fabric of his cravat keeps slipping out of his hands, refusing to do as it’s bid.

“Let me do it.”

Gaara’s nimble fingers make quick work of the loops and folds that so frequently trip Lee up; the easy intimacy of the action has Lee’s heart aching more than anything they’ve done all night.

_Thank you_ , Lee thinks, for everything – for fixing his cravat, for the reel, for coming to the ball, for teaching him how to waltz, for kissing him like Lee may never be kissed again, for the tentative blossom of love that Lee feels growing deep within him.

When Gaara finally heads for the door, Lee blurts out, “Will I see you again?”

Those cool blue eyes lock onto his, and oh, Lee should have taken the coward’s way out from the very beginning. His heart is already rent just at the _thought_ of Gaara saying no.

“Naruto and his guardian will be hosting us for some time,” Gaara says vaguely. “He enjoys hosting his friends. I am sure he wouldn’t mind one more every now and again.”

As if to confirm that Lee’s caught his meaning, Gaara reaches out to squeeze Lee’s hand.

Lee squeezes back. “I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

With that, Gaara opens the door. Lee follows Gaara out of the parlor, back to the inane chatter of the partygoers and the cry of the strings and the over-formal dancing and the dizzying air of the ballroom…

…all of which Lee has decided that he loves very, _very_ much.

**Author's Note:**

> The dance they are doing in the ballroom is The Duchess of Devonshire's Reel, which can be found on Youtube if you're interested in seeing it performed!
> 
> Also, they unfortunately didn’t wind up being very present in this fic, but rest assured that Sakura and Ino are [these lesbians.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ladies_of_Llangollen)


End file.
